


Moist Memories

by Greetomatic



Category: Blaseball (Video Game)
Genre: Canada Moist Talkers (Blaseball Team), Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greetomatic/pseuds/Greetomatic
Summary: Long before the cultural event that would be Blaseball, two kids come back to Halifax with a wild idea: revive the Canada Moist Talkers, and qualify into the inaugural season of the Internet Blaseball League. A take on the origin story for the Moist Talkers, focusing on the original lineup, and forgotten players Trevino Merritt and Kennedy Alstott (RIV).
Relationships: Trevino Merritt/Kennedy Alstott
Comments: 3
Kudos: 11
Collections: Canada Moist Talkers Fanfiction





	1. Inning 0: Beginnings

Trevino Merritt looked out the passenger side window of his 1998 Honda Civic. The car created a small wake driving forward, steadily churning over dead leaves in the water behind them. Ever since the flood, it became harder to drive around Halifax, but it was still possible as long as you didn’t mind wet feet, and more importantly, you knew where not to drive. If you weren’t careful, your car could end up entirely submerged before you even realized it.

  
Luckily for Trevino, Kennedy Alstott still remembered where not to drive, and offered to take the wheel for their friend. Trevino took his eyes off of the inky black water surrounding the Civic and looked at Kennedy, who was rhythmically nodding their head to the new Reel Blig Fish album. Kennedy returned his gaze, smiled, and turned down the music.

  
“So? How are you feeling? Excited?” Kennedy asked, before remembering that their eyes should be on the road, and looking back away from Trevino.  
“I’m not sure if excited would be the first word I would use,” Trevino replied. “Nervous, at best. Maybe terrified at worst.” He let out a low groan before clunking his head against the car window.

  
“Oh, come on, it’s not going to be that bad. It’s still standing, we know that.” Kennedy reached a hand to the back seat and steadied some bats from falling off. “We haven’t been gone that long.”

  
“But what if it’s totally falling apart? What if it’s infested with rats? What if-”

  
Kennedy cut Trevino off before he could spiral any further. “Chill out, we’re going to be fine. We can totally handle it. We’ve dealt with way worse before.” They paused, looking both ways down the empty streets. “Remember that one time in high school, with the goose?”

  
“Oh my god, please don’t remind me. I thought I had finally purged that from my memory.” Trevino gave a little shutter, and Kennedy snorted.

  
“That was pretty bad, but we made it through, y’know?”

  
“We? I had to deal with most of it.” Trevino smiled.

“I was there for moral support.”

“And it was your fucking fault in the first place!” Kennedy burst out laughing, and Trevino couldn’t stop himself from joining in. Kennedy’s laugh was so bright and cheerful, like it infected your whole body. Just like he remembered.

“My point is,” Kennedy said while trying to calm their giggles, “is that we’ve got this. Don’t worry, okay?”

“Maybe you’re right.” Trevino sighed, and looked at the antique houses they passed by. Most of them were abandoned, but every so often he saw signs of life remaining, like small semi-aquatic gardens and Halloween decorations. He even saw some people chatting outside a house that had lost an entire floor to its sinking foundations.

Trevino continued. “It’s just…this is so big. Bigger than everything else before. I’ve staked so much on this, you’ve staked so much on this. I really don’t want to fuck up.” Kennedy didn’t reply, biting their lip as they focused on the submerged road.

“Do you think this was a good idea?” Trevino asked.

“Would I be here if I didn’t think it was a good idea?” Kennedy responded, smiling encouragingly.

“Knowing you? Yes.”

“We’re here. You can open your eyes now.”

“Don’t want to. Too scared.”

Kennedy snorted. “Trev, you can’t stay in here all day.”

“Don’t test me on that.”

“Here, I’ll hold your hand so we can cross the street.” Kennedy raised their voice up mockingly and grabbed Trevino, dragging him out of the car. Trevino opened his eyes, trying not to blush from the sudden contact. He looked up, and…

“Spittle Park.”

Trevino and Kennedy looked in from the high fence that surrounded the far edge of the field. It was partially submerged under murky green water, bases floating on top and the pitcher’s mound forming a little island. The bleachers were on the two sides of the park, rising surprisingly high, but tapering down towards either corner. The two stood just spitting distance from the scoreboard, standing proud against the Autumn sky, paint fading against dark walnut wood. The most recognizable part the board still remained on the left side; a large white circle, with three tear drop shapes in a red and two shades of blue.

“And it’s actually ours,” Kennedy replied softly.

“Mostly yours. You payed more.” Trevino let go of Kennedy’s hand, realizing that he hadn’t let go.

“Nah, it was cheap. And it was your idea in the first place.”

“I can’t believe we actually did this. Are we stupid?”

“I prefer the term adventurous.” Kennedy smiled, and gestured back towards the park. “The original Moist Talkers stadium! I wanted to see a game here so badly as a kid, and we’re gonna make it happen! Am I dreaming?”

Trevino affectionally hit Kennedy on the arm. “No, you weirdo. I checked the documents over enough to make sure of that.” He nervously rearranged a strand of hair, and took a deep breath. “It’s not much worse than I was expecting,” he whispered.

  
“Come on, let’s go inside. I’m so freakin’ excited man!” Kennedy grabbed a small bag from the car and took out a ring of keys, creating a little clinking sound as they spun around. “We can bring the equipment in later.”

Kennedy took a few small hops back, gesturing for Trevino to follow. Kennedy started skipping towards the entrance, and Trevino walked behind, hands fidgeting in his pockets.

The mud was soft around his feet, which were already numb to the cold. They went under the back overhang of the bleachers, navigating around the bushes and squirrels preparing for winter. The edge of the park was marked by a small brook, the kind that ran dry in the summer and froze over in the winter. For now, it was a quiet but steady stream, carrying along dead branches and the occasional small fish. After not too long, they reached the pavement that lead up to the park’s front entrance.

There was a small concrete expanse in front of the park, so you could meet up with your friends before the game. To get into the stadium, you would buy a ticket from an attendant behind a glass booth, who would then open up the gate and let you in. Small plants had broken through cracks in the concrete, and the booths were home to numerous spider webs and one bird nest.

“It’s been a while since we jumped over these,” Kennedy said, gesturing towards the entrance. In one fluid motion, Kennedy ran up to the gate, jumped up high to grip the top, and then swung their body onto the other side. “It’s not quite so hard now that we’ve grown a few inches.” They smiled, taking a second to put their hair back in place.

Trevino walked up to the gate, jumped up to grab the top with only a little difficulty, and then pulled himself up so he was sitting on the gate. “We could’ve used a key to open this,” he said grinning, and then jumped down. “I don’t mind though.”

“After you,” Kennedy made a little flourish with their hands towards the closed wooden doors that blocked off the rest of the park.

“You’re the one with the keys, goober.”

Kennedy’s face flushed a little, a little disappointed their display had failed. “Oh yeah.” They fiddled with the key ring, trying different keys on the door, until it finally gave with a sharp clacking noise. Trevino took out a flashlight as they moved into the building.  
The bottom floor was the old lounge area. Spots were designated for concession stands and merchandise shops, enticing people with poutine and hats as they walked to the game. Hallways went towards either side, peppered with staircases that lead up towards the bleachers. It smelled…musty. Wood doesn’t mix well with water over long periods of time. The concession stands were long gone, with only a small kitchen hidden away remaining.

“We can come back to this later,” Kennedy said, coughing.

However, Trevino had stopped caring about the imperfections, as he came to term with where they really were. Spittle-fucking-park. “This is…”

“Gross?”

“Yeah, but I was going to say great.” Trevino walked around, looking at the old posters and touching the old signs. “We really fucking did it.”

Kennedy went after Trevino and stood next to their friend. “Are you sure you’re going to be able to find a way to live here? You can crash at my place. If you want to I mean.”

“Mm, I’ll figure something out. I’ve always wanted to live in a Blaseball park.” Kennedy looked a little deflated, but Trevino was too busy looking at a “1969 REGIONAL CHAMPIONS” poster to notice. “Plus, your place is totally haunted.”

“No more haunted than this place probably is.” Kennedy responded, and Trevino made a little grumbling noise. “Also, haunted is a good quality, I don’t know what you’re talkin’ bout,” they continued.

Trevino kept looking around, as Kennedy bounced around impatiently. They found a blaseball lying on a counter, and went back to Trevino. “Trev, you thinkin’ what I’m thinking?”

“Kennedy, for the last time, you could end up in a hospital.”

“Not that! Find a bat, and I’ll pitch for you.” Kennedy tugged on Trevino’s jacket pleadingly.

“You make a tempting offer, young Alstott.”

“Whatever you say slugger.”

Kennedy stood on the mound, and prepared for the pitch. They raised a leg up into the air, tensing the muscles in their arms. They waited in anticipation, their lean frame wound up like a spring. Take a deep breath, one, two, three.

With a sudden violent burst, Kennedy unleashed all of their energy, stepping forward with a stomp and cracking their arm like lightning. The ball streaked forward, and Trevino prepared himself. Shake off his shoulders, dig his feet into the wet earth. Eyes locked on the ball, he wound back, focusing on the weight of the bat in his hands. The space the bat occupies, the arc it takes. Take a break, one and a-

CRACK!

The sound of the ball reverberating off the bat was wet and loud. The ball had become soaked after Trevino had hit it repeatedly into the moist outfield. This hit, however, sounded meatier, like the bat itself was shaking from the impact. The ball went flying up, up, up, back, and to the left. Back, and to the left. Back. And to the left.

“Hey, that’s my move!” Kennedy protested.

Trevino winked. “It was a tribute.”

“I am prepared to take legal action,” Kennedy said with their best straight face. “I can sue you for copyright infringement! I’ll let you know that, that I-” they couldn’t even finish the sentence as they were overcome with a fit of giggles.

“That wasn’t even funny” Trevino shot back as he walked towards his friend, getting caught up in their laughter along the way.

“Then why are you laughing too?” Kennedy snorted.

“S-shut up,” Trevino managed to say in between laughs.

Trevino reached Kennedy at the pitcher’s mound and laughed with his friend. Their giggles and snorts echoed across the empty bleachers. Trevino calmed down first, and gave a sigh of relief.

“There goes that ball,” Kennedy said, looking behind them towards the general vicinity outside the field where the ball came to rest.

“I hope I didn’t hit a car.”

“There aren’t many cars left. The only car you would’ve hit is yours.”

“I hope I didn’t hit my car.”

Kennedy snorted. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“I’m going to worry about it.” Trevino replied defiantly.

“I’ve got something that’ll take your mind off it. Let’s go to the bleachers, I wanna show you sumthin.” They picked up their bag from the mound and slung it over your shoulder. “That is, if you can jump the fence, short stuff.”

Trevino threw his bat behind him into the outfield, making ripples on impact. “I am not short, thank you very much. I’m six foot.”

Kennedy scoffed. “What? No way. I’m 6’2, you are so not six foot.” They walked back towards Trevino, and stood right in front of him.  
Trevino had always been the taller of the two when they were kids, but Kennedy must have hit a growth spurt during college. Trevino looked straight ahead, and was startled he realized that his eye level was only at Kennedy’s lips. They were pouting just a little bit, and their lips looked soft. Almost inviting, Trevino thought without even meaning too.

“See? That’s like 3 inches difference.” Kennedy’s voice snapped Trevino out of his daze. He looked up and stepped back quickly, trying to hide his blush.

“I guess you’re right.”

This, presumably, was not what Kennedy was going to show him, but Trevino’s thoughts had long left that of his car.

By the time that had hopped up to the bleachers, and found just the right seats, the sun had set. Night was beginning to encroach, first crawling into the still water of the park, and casting a long shadow from the scoreboard. Trevino pulled his jacket closed, and kicked his feet up on the seat in front of him. Kennedy sat down next to him, and followed suit.

Seeing the whole field from up high made everything feel completely different. Trevino looked out, past the fence and the trees, and into submerged downtown Halifax. The skyline was at a variety of odd angles, buildings slowly tilting towards the water, the sea eager to reclaim its property. Past that was just ocean, for thousands and thousands of miles. Trevino felt like he was starting to understand what this place really meant. What this place used to mean, what it could mean. He looked up into the moonless twilight.

“So, Kennedy.” Trevino started. “Where next?”

“You had the idea, I figured I’d follow your lead.” Kennedy rested their head on the back of the seat and looked over.

Trevino took a deep breath. “I suppose…first we get this place fixed up. Clean up everything, figure out where the wood and electricals need repair, get the water out of where it shouldn’t be, repaint everything…” He trailed off. “And I need to get a job, too. We spent all of our money on this place. I don’t even have money for dinner.”

“We’ll make it work out. We just need to start finding people, and they’ll help us out,” Kennedy replied soothingly.

“What if no one wants to join? What if we’re the only ones who’ve ever cared about the Moist Talkers? What if-” Trevino was interrupted as Kennedy put a finger on his mouth and shushed.

“You always get worked up like this, Trev. You’re going to be okay. Life never ends up the way that we expect it to, but we roll with the punches. It works out, sometimes in weird ways, but it works out.” Kennedy smiled reassuringly.

“I really want this to go the way we want it to, I don’t just want it to work out,” Trevino said nervously.

“Me too.” They sat in silence for a few moments. Kennedy crossed their legs, and then leaned over to be closer to Trevino. “Try to believe that life will work itself out. And even if it doesn’t, we have each other.” They looked down a little. “That’s enough for me.”

Kennedy paused again. “I wish I had never left,” they said, tears welling in their eyes.

“Kennedy, come on.” Trevino grabbed their arm, trying to be reassuring. “Your parents made you go; you know I know that.”

“I never wanted to play American football. I hate it. I should have told my parents to fuck off sooner. I should have-” This time to was Trevino who put a finger over Kennedy’s mouth.

“And you always get worked up like this.” Trevino’s voice softened. “It’s like you said, we have each other. We’re here, right now. That’s enough. You made the choices you had to make when you had to make them. But you’re out of there now. They don’t control you anymore.”

Kennedy reached toward Trevino’s hand, and held on tight. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. So much.” Trevino was close, face to face with Kennedy.

“It’s been so long. But now that we’re back together…it’s like I had never left. Everything feels right again.” Kennedy whispered, voice full of emotion.

“It’s not the same without you. It’s just…” Trevino replied, his face completely red.

“I know that we said we would write, but it just got busy-”

“I know, I wanted to too, but it’s just hard, being away, and-”

“Trevino, I…I don’t want to leave you again.” Kennedy was only inches away from Trevino. He could smell the faint smell of cinnamon on their breath.

Trevino looked closely at Kennedy. Their long blond hair swayed slightly in the wind over their gentle face, and their blue eyes reflected the last traces of twilight. Their cheeks looked softer than Trevino had remembered. His heart was beating far too fast for comfort.

“Kennedy, I-”

Trevino was interrupted by a loud, and definitely human voice that suddenly erupted from the announcer’s booth.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Kennedy’s surprise for Trevino would have to wait a little bit longer.


	2. Oliver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trevino and Kennedy have an unexpected visitor.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Trevino fell out of his seat. Kennedy screamed.

“Who the hell are you?” The voice continued. It came from inside the announcer’s booth, dark tinted glass obscuring whoever the voice came from.

“What the fuck! SHIT! FUCK! SHIT!” Kennedy screamed, while slowly backing away. Trevino picked himself back up, and slowly reached for a bat to hold.

“Shit fuck shit yourself, stranger. Get out!” the voice responded forcefully.

Trevino held up the bat, trying to look intimidating. “Okay, but, well, here’s the thing,” he said unconvincingly.

“We own this place! Get the fuck out!” Kennedy continued screaming.

“You what? Wait wait wait.” There was a sharp clattering noise in the booth for a few seconds, and then the door on the side of the booth opened. A humanoid figure stepped out into the night, the faint city lights reflecting on his metallic skin. He was tall, probably even taller than Kennedy. There was a gentle scraping sound that accompanied the rhythmic moving of his joints forward. “Nobody owns the park, you must be confused,” he said.

“We just bought it, you can’t be here anymore,” Trevino asserted, although he was still shaky. “Why, why are you even here at all?”

“I live here.”

Kennedy scrunched up the collar of their shirt, brought it up to their mouth, and then screamed one last time. “Can you PLEASE leave?” they said, trying to calm down.

“Nope.”

“WHATHAFUCK DO YOU mean, ‘Nope’?” Kennedy resumed yelling.

“It’s too wet. It’s bad for my pores.”

“I don’t give a shit about your pores! This isn’t your fucking home! Just get out!”

“Oh, I’ve tried.”

Kennedy looked back at Trevino. “Hey Trev, would you care to… ya know,” they said, and made a bat swinging motion.

Trevino took a moment to steady himself. “Let’s try to settle this peacefully.” He put down the bat, and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “We don’t need the cops involved in this,” he whispered.

Kennedy paused. “Ok, fine, you’re right. I know, I’m okay.” Trevino tried to smile encouragingly.

“I’m confused, you want to play Blaseball with me?” the metallic figure interjected.

“No, no.” Trevino sighed. “It’s just, we just bought the park, and we need everyone out.” Trevino gestured, as he tried to look for words. “So…that means you. We need you, to leave.”

“I already told you, I can’t. It’s too wet.”

“Are you trying to tell us that you’ve been stuck here?” Kennedy replied.

“That would seem to be the situation.”

Kennedy groaned and hit their head onto Trevino’s shoulder, which required a non-insignificant slouch to breach the height difference. “I take it back, I’m gonna need you to use that bat to knock me right the fuck out.”

“Look, let’s try and start over, okay? My name is Trevino.” Trevino stood awkwardly as Kennedy continued to groan on his shoulder. “What should I call you?”

“My name is Oliver. Oliver Notarobot.”

“Notarobot? Like not-a-robot?”

“The ‘t’ at the end is silent. It’s French.”

“But...you are a robot?”

“What? No, I’m a flesh skin man. And it’s ‘Nou-ta-rou-bou.’” He paused. “But I’m also not a robot.”

“That’s kind of a weird name.”

“Is this really what you’re focusing on right now,” Kennedy said into Trevino’s shoulder.

“But it’s weird, right?” Trevino tried to nudge Kennedy off his shoulder, and failed.”

“I dunno, it’s not that weird.” Kennedy replied, voice muffled.

“The dude’s name is Notarobot, makes you think they’re a robot, but- wait, Oliver, what are your pronouns?”

“He/him or they/them.”

“Yeah, so it makes you think that they’re a robot.”

Kennedy lifted their head up. “We are not doing this right now.”

Trevino stepped back, putting his hands on his hips. “Oliver, if you can’t get out, then how did you get in.”

“That’s simple. It wasn’t flooded when I got in.” Oliver looked around awkwardly. “Can we sit down? My joints- my bone joints, that is- are feeling sore.”

The two agreed, and Oliver sat down on a seat in the back row, next to the booth. Trevino moved up into a row in front of Oliver, and Kennedy perched on the back of a stadium seat.

“Oliver…” Trevino started. “The stadium has been partially submerged for decades, before we were even born. How did you really get here?”

“I got here before it was wet, I’m not lying.”

Kennedy scoffed. “You’re tryin’ to tell us you’ve been here for decades.”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Oliver, I’m trying to help you out here.” Trevino sounded tired.

“I don’t lie. Look, I still have my employee ID.” Oliver reached into the back pockets of his jeans, and pulled out a blue and white card. Trevino leaned forward to read it.

“Halifax Moist Talkers, Custodial. Oliver Notarobot. I’ll be darned.”

“Nou-ta-rou-bou,” Oliver corrected.

“Kennedy, look, it’s legit.” Trevino gestured for his friend to come closer.

Kennedy leaned forward, next to Trevino. “Well, I’ll be fucked. It certainly looks real. And I don’t know why someone would fake somethin’ like this.”

“So, are you two going to leave now?” Oliver asked.

“What? No, you’re the one who needs to leave. We own the park.” Kennedy responded, a little offended.

“How do I know you’re not lying to me?” Oliver responded.

Trevino laughed. “Fair enough. Kennedy, did you bring the papers?”

Kennedy nodded, rummaged in their backpack for a second, and showed Oliver a photocopy of the proof of sale. “I made sure to bring ‘em, so no one would think we were trespassing.” Oliver looked them over, and then returned the papers.

“I owe you an apology, then. You two woke me up, and I usually chase any couples out who get too…touchy.” Oliver intoned in a very human voice.

Trevino’s face reddened, and he looked down. Kennedy interjected “We’re not a couple, but whatever.”

“The two of you were in a very close proximity, so I had assumed-”

“You assumed wrong, Oliver.” Kennedy responded curtly.

“If you are, it’s fine, there’s nothing wrong with human companionship.” Oliver continued, unaffected.

“We’re just friends.” Kennedy said, clearly annoyed.

“I’ve never experienced it, but I don’t judge, I-”

“OKAY, OLIVER, OKAY!” Kennedy shouted, and stood up. “We’ll leave, we’ll leave. We can deal with this tomorrow.”

Oliver looked happy. “Great! I’ll go back to sleep.” He got up, and started clanking back towards the announcer’s booth.

“Wait, wait,” Trevino interjected, standing up to be next to Kennedy. “I was going to make a spot to sleep in there. I have to sleep somewhere.”

Kennedy buried their face in their hands. “I just… I really want to leave now. There’s no way you can sleep in an abandoned stadium. Just crash at my place, and we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

Oliver had ignored them, and had closed the door to the announcer’s booth with a loud slam. All Trevino could do was laugh. “I suppose I don’t have much choice.”

The car rolled up into the gravel driveway, the wheels gradually crunching to a stop. Kennedy took the keys out of the ignition, and then nudged Trevino awake. “Trev, we’re back.”

Trevino slowly opened his eyes. The inside of the cab was illuminated with a soft luminescence from the overhead bulb, but the world outside was pitch black. Most of the streetlights had fallen into disrepair, but Trevino could see a house lit up in the car’s headlights. He remembered Kennedy’s house from when they were younger; a big foreboding silhouette, and old-fashioned architecture that was supposed to convey status and money, or would have, if not for the fact that very few old houses had remained livable after the flood, and instead became the last recluse of the poor and uncomfortably wet. The Alstott’s had stayed in their legacy home out of pride, or maybe out of spite, despite the constant need for expensive repairs.

“Mmm,” Trevino managed to grumble. “I’m awake.”

“Alright,” Kennedy replied, stepping out of the car and locking it. Once Trevino had done the same, they tossed over the keys.

Trevino shook his head back and forth quickly, trying to finish waking up. “It was nice for your parents to let you stay here, at least.”

“Well.” Kennedy started walking up the stone pathway towards the house, navigating past overgrown vegetation. “They don’t really know, I guess.”

“Oh.”

“They must’ve forgotten that I still have house keys.”

“Are you sure they won’t show up? Are you going to be okay here?”

“They haven’t been back to this house since I graduated high school. They fired the caretaker, too. We’ll be fine.”

“If you say so, I guess.”

“It’s fine, just, fucking chill out.” Kennedy paused before the door, and heavily exhaled. “I’m sorry, I… It’s been a long day. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine, you don’t need to apologize.”

“No, I do, I shouldn’t’ve, I shouldn’t’ve…I don’t know. I’m just sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?”

“It is.” Trevino lifted up his hand to put on Kennedy’s back, and then decided against it. “Let’s go in. I think we’re both tired.”

“Yeah.” Kennedy unlocked the door, stepped in, and turned on a light, with Trevino following behind. The inside was almost bare of furnishings; the small entryway opened up into the empty living room on the left, and the kitchen on the right, populated by a couple of bags and cans of food. The floors were made of what was supposed to look like old wood, but wasn’t because it hadn’t buckled under the moisture yet. “Sorry it…looks like this.”

“I was going to literally sleep in a flooded stadium, this is basically luxury.”

Kennedy snorted. “Fair nuff. My room’s nicer, I swear.”

“Do you have a couch?” Trevino asked.

“Um, shit. No.”

“Ah.”

“Welllllll,” Kennedy drew out the “l” sound as long as they could, as if refusing it to let it go. “Shit.” Kennedy burst out laughing.

Trevino couldn’t help but smile. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just…Jesusssss, we’re kinda a fucking mess. Goddamn, I’m a dumbass.”

Trevino chuckled. Laughing was basically Kennedy’s default reaction to any situation, and while it had gotten them in trouble plenty of times before, it was nice to hear it again.

“Um, I think I have a cot somewhere in my college stuff,” Kennedy said after stifling their giggles.

“That would be great, thank you.”

“Unless, you need to sleep next to me, like back in ninth grade,” they said mischievously, voice lilting.

Trevino’s face flushed. “That happened once. And! It was only because of the ghosts.” Kennedy went into another fit of laughter.

“Whatever excuse makes you happy.”

“You really are the worst.”

“I think you mean the best.”

“Whatever, _Kenny_.” Trevino smirked.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kennedy replied. “Do you wanna have a place to sleep or not?”

“Yes’m.”

To Kennedy’s credit, their room was actually nicer, even if it was clear that everything in it had come from a college dorm. Kennedy moved a beanbag aside to make room for the cot, giving Trevino a good view of the “Violent Femmes” poster on the wall. Trevino brought in some overnight stuff from his car, and before long both he and Kennedy were lying down, completely exhausted from the day.

Trevino looked up at the ceiling, took a deep breath, and exhaled. The day had been long and exhausting, but his mind was still racing. Seeing his friend again after so long, going to the park, meeting Oliver, and whatever had happened before Oliver interrupted… His anxieties from the day were drowned out as he tried to process everything that had happened.

“Can I turn the lights off now?” Kennedy looked down at Trevino from atop their bed, perched like a feral cat. They had taken their makeup off, and their hair had gotten a little messy, but like, in an endearing way. That’s what Trevino thought, anyway.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” Trevino went to pull his blanket up, until he suddenly remembered how Kennedy had said they had something to show him in the bleachers, before they had gotten…distracted. It couldn’t have been, well, _that_ , could it? Trevino’s anxiety spiked. There had to be a different explanation, he thought. But, his curiosity was greater than his fear. “Wait, Kennedy?”

Kennedy hovered at the end of their bed, about to get up to switch the lights off. “Hmm?” they muttered.

“After we lost the blaseball, you said you had something you wanted to show me?”

“Oh shit! How could I forget!” Kennedy hopped off the bed and shuffled over to their bag on the floor. “I have a gift for you, or well, for us.” They took something out of the bag, hiding it behind their back before Trevino could see what it was. “Close your eyes.”

Trevino did as he was told, and a light object was placed into his hands. He opened his eyes. “A blaseball cap?”

“Look at the front, dummy.”

He turned the blue cap around and looked at the front. It had a small logo in the center, of a blue mouth open wide, with a tongue that turned into a crashing wave. Next to it were the letters “MT” and a maple leaf.

“New Moist Talkers, new logo,” Kennedy said nervously. “What do you think?”

“Oh my god,” Trevino whispered. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Nah, I hired a graphic designer with some of my folks’ money. But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

Trevino’s vision blurred a little, and his eyes began to sting with tears. “Fuck. Yes, I love it.” He put the hat on, and wiped away the tears from his eyes. “I really fucking love it.”

Maybe Kennedy was right, and maybe everything really would be okay. Maybe it wouldn’t.

But for now, at least, Trevino was able to focus just on being with Kennedy, and in that moment, it was all okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I know that this ended up coming... a while after the first chapter, but better late than never?
> 
> I'm still pretty new to narrative writing, so any feedback/comments would be appreciated! Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Howdy folks,
> 
> Thanks for reading all the way to the end! I'm hardly an experienced prose writer, but I had a lot of fun writing this. After people started creating art of Blaseball players before they grew up, I started getting ideas for what the Moist Talkers might have looked like before...everything happened. Then, it just spiraled into this. I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> I'm hoping to continue this story with future chapters! I can't say how often updates will be, but I'll keep going until I get bored of it.
> 
> Until next time!


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